


i still refused (all the methods you abused)

by WhatsATerrarium



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Gen, Kidnapping, Pre-Canon, Tier 5, Trans Owen Thompson | Agent Green
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-02-20 06:55:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22013392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatsATerrarium/pseuds/WhatsATerrarium
Summary: “You know, I really didn’t want to have to do this, Owen.”  The look on her face is calm.  Way too calm.  He can hear the hint of emotion in her voice, but her face… her face reveals nothing. It’s unsettling.That’s not a face he’s ever seen her make towards him before, though.  That’s the face he sees her make when she’s talking to patients, especially the dangerous ones.  The face she makes when she’s working in Tier 5.Tier 5.  His brain makes the connection slower than it should.  The dim lights, the musty air, the glass doors.  Then again, he’s never been on this side of things.OR:Owen tries to help Mark.It ends badly.
Relationships: Joan Bright/Owen Thompson | Agent Green, Mark Bryant & Owen Thompson | Agent Green, Owen Thompson | Agent Green & Ellie Wadsworth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	1. your ever desperate plan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CrayolaRainbow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrayolaRainbow/gifts).



> Gifting this to E because it's their birthday! <3
> 
> Title and chapter titles are from "I'll Stick Around" by Foo Fighters.

“Good morning, Owen.”

“Wh-“ the room spins ever so slightly as he opens his eyes. It takes a minute to adjust to his surroundings, but when he does, a few things stick out. He’s lying on a bed. It’s uncomfortable and musty. The light above him is dim and flickering. Ellie is sitting across from him. On the other side of the glass. “Ellie? What’s-“

“You know, I really didn’t want to have to do this, Owen.” The look on her face is calm. Way too calm. He can hear the hint of emotion in her voice, but her face… her face reveals nothing. It’s unsettling.

That’s not a face he’s ever seen her make towards him before, though. That’s the face he sees her make when she’s talking to patients, especially the dangerous ones. The face she makes when she’s working in Tier 5.

Tier 5. His brain makes the connection slower than it should. The dim lights, the musty air, the glass doors. Then again, he’s never been on this side of things.

“Why… Why am I...” Then he gets a flashback. Its brief, one memory returning. He had been planning for weeks and last night… last night he had been making his way to Tier 5, preparing to execute the plan. Nothing was clear after that.

“Well, we couldn’t just call the police. That would raise more questions than we were prepared to deal with. And turning to the feds would mean risking involvement from… never mind.” She shakes her head, returning to her train of thought. “You’re here because you tried to facilitate the breakout of one of our most valuable- and dangerous- atypicals.”

“He’s not dangerous,” the response is quiet and almost automatic.

“Excuse me?”

“He’s not dangerous. I saw his file, he’s never even hurt anyone, he-“

“Oh, don’t pretend like it matters.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t pretend you took pity on him for anything but his last name.”

That makes him go quiet.

“You know, you’re lucky it’s me. Rostova probably would have just killed you.”

“Probably,” he agrees. “He would’ve jumped at the chance, too.”

If she can be calm, he can try his damn hardest to be too.

“How long are you planning on keeping me here for, Ellie? I do have work to do.”

“I don’t think you understand the gravity of your situation,  _ Mr. Thompson _ . However, I do think the most painstakingly clear part of this  _ should be _ the fact that you  _ do not  _ have work to do, as you are definitely no longer on The AM’s payroll.”

Hearing his last name hits in a way he doesn’t expect it to. She’s serious. She really is serious right now.

And logically, he knows there’s no reason she wouldn’t be serious. He  _ did  _ facilitate a (failed) Tier 5 breakout. He knows that he did something that goes against every single rule that’s been put in place, but all he can think about is that just a few weeks ago, they were laughing over the phone because of a dumb story about her sister. Just last month he, Ellie, and Joan had gone out to eat for his birthday. Hell, just  _ yesterday  _ the three of them had talked about going to see a movie.

And now he’s here, and she’s on the other side of the glass.

“And to answer your question, you will be here indefinitely.”

“Indefinitely?”

“If and when we find something better to do with you, that will change. But for now, you’re here.”

“What am I going to do down here? It’s not like I’m an atypical you can experiment on. Am I just going to sit here wasting resources?”

“Don’t worry, we’ll find use for you. There is a chance you will be brought in to help with experiments, although most likely from a… different… side of things than you’re used to.” His stomach churns a little as he tries not to think about whatever the hell that means. “But now, if you’ll excuse me,  _ I _ do have things to attend to-“

“Wait!” He blurts out before she can even turn to walk away.

“Yes?”

“What about….”

“What about?”

“Where’s Joan?”

“She’s upstairs working, obviously.”

“Does- Does she know I’m-“

That makes her laugh. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Owen. She has no idea where you are. She called you this morning when she noticed you weren’t here. You didn’t pick up.”

“But-“

“Last night, you told her you were going to work late. Had some paperwork to deal with. She asked you to text her and let her know you got home safe. Isn’t that just like her? Always so worried about people. She never heard from you. She’s starting to get very concerned.”

“How- How do you-?”

“Because she  _ told me, _ Owen.”

That leaves him silent. He’s seen the way Joan gets when she’s worried. No one would guess it, but when she gets worried enough, it’s  _ bad.  _ She doesn’t like it to be common knowledge, she likes other people to see her as strong and in control. But he’s seen her have anxiety attacks. He’s seen her have nightmares. He’s seen her cry, and shake, and make herself sick with worry like she did when Mark went missing.

He doesn’t want her to ever feel like that again. Especially not over him.

She waits for him to respond. When it’s clear he has nothing else to say, she sighs. “Just don’t make this difficult, Owen. I don’t want to have to make you cooperate, but that doesn’t mean I’ll hesitate.”

He feels a pang in his heart. He really does believe her now. She turns to leave and he doesn’t stop her this time.


	2. it’s alright if you’re confused

There’s quiet for a few minutes. He hears her leave, and somehow everything fully hits him once she’s gone. He sinks back down onto the bed, taking deep breaths as his thoughts begin to overwhelm him. This is bad.

Though, as it turns out. He doesn’t have more than a few seconds to focus on breaking down. He’s interrupted fairly quickly.

“So, are you gonna tell me what the fuck is up? Or do I just have to piece together what I heard from Wadsworth,” the familiar voice cuts through the silence, speaking seemingly from the cell next to his.

“I…”

“Does Joan work here?”

“That’s-”

“Does. She. Work. Here.”

“Yes, but-”

“And does…does she know I’m down here?”

“No,” he responds firmly, regaining some form of confidence in his voice. “She doesn’t even know… she doesn’t know what goes on down here. Joan is doing good work.”

“Unlike you.”

“Unlike me.”

“So what, you thought you’d break me out so you’d feel less guilty about fucking my sister?”

“I… No. I tried to break you out because Joan cares about you and she’s worried about you.”

“Oh and I’m sure you care so much about Joan,” he spits. His voice is dripping with sarcasm and it ignites a surprising amount of anger in Owen.

“ _ I do, actually _ ,” he shoots back.

“Well, forgive me if I’m not inclined to believe that.”

“Well, you’re going to have to believe it, because we’re engaged.”

“You… What?”

“Joan and I are engaged,” he repeats, his tone calming down.

And just as quickly as it disappeared, the silence returns.

“...And listen, Mark, I-” he attempts to speak but is quickly interrupted.

“Fuck you.”

“I-”

“Fuck. You.”

“ _ Listen to me! _ ” Owen half shouts and, expecting retaliation, he waits a second before continuing. But when he’s met with no harsh comments or insults, he clears his throat, now somehow feeling awkward and under pressure. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Mark.”   
  
“Oh, so you spend 10 minutes down here and now you feel sorry?” Mark bites back, quieter than before. “Newsflash, guy, it only gets worse from here.”

***

Resigned in the knowledge that Mark isn’t going to want to talk to him and that Ellie isn’t going to come back, Owen takes the opportunity to explore his cramped, uncomfortable cell. The bed is musty and uncomfortable with virtually no bedding and there are cobwebs on the walls. Aside from that, he’s got nothing but the clothes on his back. Then it dawns on him that he might not even have that pretty soon. Everyone else in Tier 5 was given patient scrubs within the first day of their arrival and all of their personal effects are confiscated immediately after.

Instinctively, he reaches into his pockets, searching for anything of importance that he can try to hold onto or stash away. But asides from a plastic wrapper and a receipt for the coffees he bought yesterday morning, his pockets are empty. But as his fingers brush the fabric of his pants, he’s reminded of something else. Something he can’t lose.

They wouldn’t take it would they? That’d be a cruel violation at best.

Then again, that’s an accurate description of the majority of things he’s heard and seen of Tier 5. So carefully, he slips off his engagement ring. He stares down at it as he fiddles with it gently. The pang of guilt he feels for removing it is outmatched by the unbridled fear that it would be taken, and with both of these feelings coexisting inside of him in the capacity that they do, he finds his hands nearly shaking.

He wraps it carefully in the receipt until it’s entirely balled up around the ring, concealing it. He scans the room for a hiding place, quickly coming to the conclusion that the bed is the only option. And so he tucks it carefully inside the sheets, making sure it’s as inconspicuously placed as possible.

Afterwards, he lets himself fall back onto the uncomfortable mattress, curling up onto his side staring ahead of him at the blank wall. His head is still rushing with thoughts about what’s going to happen. What Ellie meant when she said he would be participating in experiments. What would happen if someone found the ring. What was happening with Joan. If Mark was ever going to talk to him civilly. If Joan was worried. How long he would be here. If Joan would move on.

All thoughts kept leading back to Joan, and he almost feels guilty for how much pain the thoughts cause him. He doesn’t want to think about her. He doesn’t want to think about her being worried, about her not knowing what’s happening, about her being alone.

For once, it’s a curse that he can never seem to get her out of his mind.


	3. every word i said was true

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark and Owen have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No proofreading, we die on the battlefield like men.

It takes a second for him to recognize his surroundings. His eyes are opening and he’s phasing in and out of consciousness, but once again, he finds himself waking up in Tier 5. He’s really not sure what the time is and that discomforts him almost more than it probably should.

He’s awoken by the same voice calling to him from the other side of the wall. “Hey. Hey… you awake? Green?”

Owen sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Yes, I- I’m awake,” he responds.

“Cool,” he hears Mark say quietly. Owen doesn’t say anything, he can tell the other man is thinking. “So… I’m sorry, I guess.”   
  
This time, Owen does open his mouth to respond, but he’s cut off quickly.

“Just for…” he sighs. “I shouldn’t have made cracks about you being here. I really fucking hate you, but you don’t deserve this. No one deserves this.”

“Well… thank you,” Owen says awkwardly.

“Don’t… don’t give that too much thought. I just don’t want you to get the impression that I think  _ anyone _ , even you, deserves this shit show you’ve put me through.”

Owen takes a second to absorb that. The reminder that this is his fault is much needed. This is his reminder that he’s here because he tried to fix the mistakes he made way too late. He can’t let himself forget that.   
  
“I really am sorry, Mark.”

“I know,” Mark breathes. “Sorry doesn’t fix anything, though.”

He doesn’t try to add on. He knows Mark is right and figures it’s best to leave the conversation at that. So instead, he changes the subject. “Do you… know what time it is?”

“Oh yeah, let me just check my watch,” Mark retorts dryly.

“I mean, just… I fell asleep, do you know  _ around  _ what time it is? Morning? Afternoon?”

“Judging by the guards rotation… I don’t know, around... 3? Yeah. Around 3.”

“Right, thanks,” he sighs.

“Hey, Green?”

“Yes?”

“How… how is Joanie?” he asks quietly. “How is she doing?”

“What do you mean?” he responds, once again growing slightly anxious at the thought of how Joan is doing.

“I mean… I don’t know,” he chuckles bitterly. “I haven’t seen her in forever, just… how is she?”

“Well, there’s… I mean, she works here. She’s one of the smartest people in this building and everyone knows it. She- she cares so much about helping people.” He pauses. The second he starts to think about Joan, every other little detail comes rushing to his head. “She got a haircut a few weeks ago. She recently discovered that she really likes tofu, but only specific kinds,” he continues. “She cried during the musical Wicked when we went to see it for her birthday. She has this weird feud with the barista at the Starbuck’s down the street that I don’t entirely understand, and she… she misses you. And she worries about you so much.”

“...Really?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t-?”   
  


“Wadsworth told me she wasn’t. That she would have moved on by now. Stopped caring. I wondered how she would have known, but… now I know.”

  
“Mark, she… she’s worried all the time. No matter how focused she is, or… how happy she is. How calm she is, how… anything. There’s always this worry. Like there’s always something wrong, something  _ missing _ . She’s never going to move on or stop caring. She loves you so much, Mark.”

“Are you sure?”

“When you went missing, she made herself physically sick with worry.”

“Well that was… months ago. Nearly a year,” Mark murmurs, just barely intelligible. He sounds almost… contemplative.

“She barely left her apartment the first week after.”

There’s quiet for a minute and Owen almost wonders if Mark heard him. Then the other man’s voice comes through weaker, shakier. “Wh-Why?”

“The day after we got engaged, she cried because… because she realized she’d have to get married without you there. She misses you, and she’s never going to stop. You are the most important thing to her.”   
  
“I shouldn’t be. She- she should be living her life.”

“She is,” he responds, growing nervous as Mark tries less and less to mask the sound of his tears. “But nothing is ever going to fill that hole. She’s… she’s going on but she’s missing a part of herself, Mark.”

It sounds like Mark is ready to respond, but then the door to Tier 5 opens. He knows where Mark’s cell is, so unless Mark’s been moved, Owen knows he’s near the very back of Tier 5. A feeling of panic spreads through his chest, fluttering like butterflies with wings of iron, beating on his ribcage.

He had never realized you could hear the door opening from this far away. But judging by the dead silence coming from the cell next to his, he can assume he’s not alone in his fear.

The sound of footsteps appear shortly, faint but still there in the dead silence that settles around the entire level.


	4. all it took to bother you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, no proofreading bc I’m a shmuck. Also, sorry this chapter is shorter.

The footsteps come thudding through the hallway and he’s not sure if he should calm or grow more worried when he realizes that the footsteps are too heavy to belong to Ellie. They continued to grow louder before coming to a dead stop in front of Owen’s cell.

When he glances up, the man in front of him is one he recognizes. “Hello, Cameron,” he offers a mildly nervous smile at Agent Mustard. They had never been friends, but they had been friendly. The look on Cameron’s face, though, is anything but.

Owen’s smile quickly fades and the nervous feeling gives way to pure anxiety. The other man is glaring down at him as he opens the window in the glass to throw through a set of patient scrubs.

Owen takes them apprehensively, watching to see if Mustard is going to do anything else. When he doesn’t move, only continues to glare at him with a look of pure hatred, Owen stands. He turns his back to him both in order to escape the sight of Cameron’s snarl and to conceal the scars on his chest as he strips. He casts his clothes aside as he scrambles quickly into the scrubs he was provided, not wanting to prolong this at all.

He turns back around once he’s changed and Agent Mustard gestures towards Owen’s clothes on the floor. He hangs onto them a second longer than he means to before hesitantly pushing them through the hole in the glass.

“Socks and shoes too.”

He nods slightly, silently obeying and passing those through the window as well. It feels like being stripped, just slightly, of his humanity.

No, not slightly. Gradually. Like Mark said, this is just the beginning.

Against his better judgement, he tries again to make conversation. “How is that project Ellie had you helping with coming?”

“Shut the fuck up.”   
  
“I’m sorry,” he responds quickly, still somewhat taken aback. “I just-”

“Listen asshole, we’re not friends. You’ve made your loyalties abundantly clear.” He spits at the glass emphatically enough to make Owen flinch. “You give me a reason to beat the shit out of you and I won’t hesitate. Piece of shit.”   
  
“I’m sorry,” he responds. This time his voice is less formal and more obedient. He’s  _ scared _ and he’s too scared to hide behind formalities.

He watches as the Agent wordlessly takes his belongings and turns around, leaving as abruptly as he came.

“Well then,” Mark speaks up, his voice, though quiet seeming to erupt through the silence that had begun to settle through the hall. “Welcome to the scrub club. Unless you’re naked in there, which I doubt you are, but am willing to believe given how pissed with you Mustard sounded.”

Owen searches for a way to respond, but comes up empty. Mark seems to sense the other man’s fear setting in.

“Do you want to talk about Joan?”

“Huh?” The question jolts him out of the mildly dissociative state he had been drifting towards.

“I don’t know man, you seemed scared. I was trying to distract you.”   
  
“Oh. Um, thank you.”   
  
“So did you want to, or...?

“I… I don’t know.” The other man remains silent for a minute. “I just… I love her. So much, but… When I start thinking about her I picture her… worried. Scared. Alone. And I…. I don’t want to think about that. I don’t want to think about her. Not now.”

“Yeah, I… I get that.” He waits an awkward beat of silence. “Do you want to talk about something else?”

“What else is there?” It’s the knee jerk response that comes to mind and honestly, he doesn’t expect the truth of it to ring through his head as much as it does.

What else is there?


	5. words are due

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, posting chapter 4: sorry this one's short!!  
> Me, posting chapter 5: lol watch this
> 
> As always, no proofreading, we die on the battlefield like men.

She takes another long drink of the shitty break room coffee as she refreshes her messages.

Her skin is crawling with anxiety and her leg is bouncing uncomfortably as she remains stationary, standing outside Ellie’s office.

It’s a two minute long eternity before she sees Ellie come rushing through the door. For a second, she thinks the look on her face seems almost… worried. The second she notices Joan, however, her normal, calm expression washes over it sloppily.

That leaves Joan unsettled even more than the sight of her friend nervous, if there’s one thing Ellie isn’t, it’s sloppy, especially with her emotions.

“Ellie,” she speaks, forcing herself out of her own mind as she walks over to her urgently.   
  
“What is it, Joan?”   
  
“I think something’s happened to Owen.”

“What makes you think that?”

The gears in her head, already fired up, begin working at a new nauseating speed. “He- He told me he was going to work late last night. I asked him to just…” she takes a breath. “I asked him to text me when he got home. He said he would. But, he… he didn’t.”   
  
“Well, maybe he was just tired, Joan,” Ellie offers supportively.

“No,” Joan shakes off her attempts at reassurance. “He’s still not answering my texts or my calls, and he’s- he’s not here, Ellie. When has he  _ ever _ been late?”

Joan watches Ellie’s face settle into what she thinks is concern as she lets out a sigh. “Okay… Don’t worry, Joan. I’m sure he’s fine. If he’s still not here soon, just… let me know, but I have a pressing matter to deal with.” The smile she gives her is sympathetic as she reaches out to squeeze her shoulder quickly before walking past.

“A pressing matter?”   
  
“It’s beyond your security clearance.”

Joan frowns. She should probably be concerned with whatever Ellie’s taking care of, but her thoughts can’t seem to stray from Owen.

Then again, who’s to say the issues aren’t related? The only thing beyond her security clearance is Tier 5 and Owen did work down there. And okay, now her mind is racing even faster.

“Dr. Bright!” A voice cuts through her thoughts and she sees a young woman rushing towards her. “Do you have those papers we need for the patient files I’m assembling?”

“Oh, uh, Jay- Yes, I… have that paperwork. Um, come with me.” She leads the young woman off towards her desk, trying to ignore the dread overtaking her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHA! IT LIVES! THIS FIC L I V E S.
> 
> Sorry I abandoned it for way too long and honestly, I don't know how much more I'm gonna write of this or how soon but uhhh......... here ya go.
> 
> Also chapter titles are (as of now) for wimps because I'm gonna go through and fix them if I continue this fic.

“Good morning, Owen.”

She brought a chair with her. She’s sitting perfectly upright while smiling at him in a way that despite knowing her for as many years as he has, he can’t decipher.

He rubs his eyes as he sits up slowly, muttering bitterly. “Morning.”

“How are you adjusting?”   
  
“I’m… I’m adjusting fine.” And God help him, that’s the truth. He may not  _ like _ what he’s adjusting to, but… well, he thinks he’s already getting used to it. After only a day, the fact of his reality has sunk itself into his mind like a stone in a lake. Isn’t that a terrifying thought? 

“Pleased to hear it,” she responds, her voice growing less and less familiar with every word.

“How is Joan doing?” He asks, trying not to sound too urgent.

“Oh, Owen,” she responds with a cruel, chipper smile that makes him feel a bile rising in his stomach. “Do you really expect me to betray the personal information of a member of our personnel to… well, a prisoner? A  _ dangerous  _ prisoner?”   
  
That word stings more than he ever would have thought it could.

“I…” he expects her to cut him off, he  _ wants _ her to. It feels almost painful to have to try to justify himself. “Please, Ellie… I just… I need to know if she’s okay.”

“You really have surprised me, Owen. How funny that  _ now _ is when you start making a habit of that.”

  
“Wh-”

“How is it that you still don’t understand the implications  _ and repercussions  _ of your actions?”   
  
“I’m not  _ dangerous _ ,” he erupts, feeling a form of shame wash over him at the need to defend himself from that notion.

“How can you say that? You tried to break a Tier 5 patient out of this facility.”   
  
“But not-”   
  
“What, Owen? Not a dangerous one? You and I both know that his ability makes him  _ extremely  _ dangerous and the fact remains that you, without thinking, tried to allow him to roam freely in this facility. What if he decided to hurt someone? What if he decided to let one of his little friends out? People could have been hurt, Owen.” Her tone is, as always the most perfect and  _ frightening _ mixture of restraint and malice. She’s spitting her words out too sharply and too quickly to even allow him time to think. “Anyone in this facility could have been hurt.”

She pauses a minute, as though she’s letting him catch up before she delivers the blow that he now knows is coming.

“ _ Joan  _ could have been hurt.”

And he expects her to be done there, but she waits only a second before continuing. “And given how ready you were to betray this organization, how can we be sure that that— someone getting  _ hurt _ — wasn’t your intention to begin with? So forgive me, Owen, for caring about Joan’s safety.”

He’s quiet after that. He expects himself to want to yell or argue or release the sudden surge of rage he feels, but it envelopes him and instead of exploding out of him, it bursts inwards and seemingly melts around his heart, hardening into a terrible, painful shell of self-loathing.

“Wonderful,” she smiles a practically hyperbolic smile. “Now, if there’s nothing else to discu—”

He cuts her off as she’s beginning to stand. “Wait, no, there— there is.”

She glances back down at him, raising both eyebrows curiously. She’s physically incapable of raising just one and it frustrates her a frankly unreasonable amount. Once, when they’d all been drunk, he and Joan had tried to teach her and, much to her annoyance, deemed it a lost cause.

She sits back down and takes a minute for him to realize that she’s waiting on him to continue. “I um… I have certain medical needs, and…”

“Right,” she responds, her tone so much more natural than only seconds ago that it almost catches him off guard. “You won’t have to worry about that. I’ll talk to the medical staff about getting you access to hormones, it should only take a few days.”

He nods a little, relieved. “Thank you.” The words come out softly, and it’s not until he hears them that he fully realizes how  _ tired _ he is. As though the second he’s forced to acknowledge it, it comes into focus just how blurry his mind is, how badly his neck hurts from just supporting the weight of his head, how much effort it’s actually taking him to sit upright, how badly he wants nothing more than to  _ collapse. _

She stands. She gives him a look as if to ask if there’s anything else, and he shakes his head in response, and then, instead of leaving, she does something he doesn’t expect. She turns to her side and waves someone over. He hears footsteps. She turns back to him, looking down at him expectantly.

“Get up.”

**Author's Note:**

> So a big reason why I don't usually leave comments is that it doesn’t feel like a conversation, it feels too definite. So, as opposed to asking you to leave comments (which I do still very much appreciate and will respond to if that’s your thing), I’m going to let you know how to contact me!
> 
> Instagram: whats_a_terrarium  
> Discord: whats_a_terrarium#0251  
> Tumblr: whats-a-terrarium  
> Twitter: whatsaterrarium
> 
> If you have any thoughts, ideas, constructive criticism, or just want to ramble, never hesitate! :)


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